In the final procrastination countdownon my do-or-die chapter of the Be book, I literally
dealt with every single remaining message in my in box, already
winnowed to under 20 in the furious housekeeping equivalent of the
past few days.

Ultimately, there was nothing left
to do but pay outstanding bills (can do that tomorrow just
as well) or write the damn chapter, already over-outlined
and paraphrased six ways to sunday. Why is the final transformation
of idea into action so repellant? misplaced Hellenic idealism?
fear of failure? fear of success? of mediocrity? (does mediocrity
represent a shameless kind of failure and a shameful kind
of success?)